


Five Things Hank Anderson Has Learned About Androids (and a couple of things Connor already knew about humans)

by Caora (Soujin)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Ken Doll Android Anatomy | Androids Have No Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Millennial Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 13:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soujin/pseuds/Caora
Summary: Connor is in a different mode now. He's listening to Hank (actually listening to him!), copying him, and when Hank kisses him he pays attention, tries to kiss back the same way. He also lubricates his mouth, which is incredibly fucking gross if Hank thinks about it for more than two seconds, so he doesn't -- he just focuses on curling his tongue around Connor's, trying not to clack his teeth against Connor's plastic ones, biting gently at Connor's bottom lip. He absolutely knows that Connor still has his eyes open, but he keeps his firmly closed. There's no need to ruin the moment.---in which Hank tries to help Connor do this whole sex thing that Connor wants so much to do.





	Five Things Hank Anderson Has Learned About Androids (and a couple of things Connor already knew about humans)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heylizten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heylizten/gifts).



Five Things Hank Anderson Has Learned About Androids (and a few things Connor already knew about humans)

i.

After they deviate, they get weird.

He guesses that makes sense. After they deviate, they might as well be human, and humans are weird. Still, it's kind of unsettling the way Connor looks at him lately. Hank is used to Connor blanking out -- just staring into space, or staring at _him_ , the LED spinning yellow as he uploads a report or processes some new information. He doesn't like it, but he's used to it, he gets it (more or less).

This new staring thing is different. Connor's LED spins, his brown eyes gaze, but he's definitely not doing something else. He's looking _at_ Hank. He's taking in information of some kind, and the porn part of Hank's brain inserts a saxophone riff, and the normal fucking person part of Hank's brain resigns itself to a lecture about body fat percentage or some other damn thing.

Connor is not living with Hank, thank Christ, because that would also be weird. Not necessarily bad, but weird, inappropriate, because Connor is basically a kid and even though Hank likes him in the house, folded like a fucking pretzel on Hank's shitty couch, both hands buried in Sumo's fur, he has to draw a line somewhere. So Connor just comes over (every single fucking day) and then sometime around midnight leaves for whatever glorified closet he sleeps in.

Yeah, yeah, not sleeps. Stasis. Whatever. Hank needs him gone, because he is one hundred percent sure that if he tried jacking it with Connor in the house, Connor would either a) know or b) interrupt.

("Lieutenant, I heard you making noises of distress!" says the Connor in Hank's imagination, standing in the busted doorway, while Hank stares up at him in horror. (Then Connor notices Hank's dick is in his hands, and the saxophone riff starts up again.) No fucking thank you.)

But the couch part is fine. Sumo is fucking obsessed with Connor's dumb face (a turn of phrase Hank vaguely remembers from 2016 or something) and he loses his mind every time Connor shows up. Hank is educating Connor on vintage TV, which right now means the 1994 X-Men cartoon, something Hank watched religiously when he was in the second grade, eyes glued to the screen as he sucked down Lucky Charms. Connor likes it. Connor likes Nightcrawler.

"I could download a fencing protocol," he informs Hank one night.

"No," Hank says automatically, because that's hot, and takes a long drink of his beer. When he looks over, Connor is staring at him again. "What?"

"Lieutenant, you are aroused."

"Don't be weird, Connor," he drawls, knowing already that that won't be enough to put him off. Hank has never met anyone less concerned with being weird.

"You are often aroused around me. I am reporting facts."

"No, you're trying to make me react, and it ain't gonna happen. I'm on to you."

Connor's mouth draws into an expression that, half a year ago, Hank would have punched. Now he keeps his hand on the beer bottle so he can't grab Connor by his shirtfront and kiss him. He's the responsible adult in this house. Ain't happening.

Instead, Connor surges across the couch, resulting in a boof of protest from Sumo, poor boy. He grabs Hank by Hank's shirtfront ( _he probably_ can _read my thoughts_ , Hank thinks idly) and pushes him back against the couch for a kiss.

ii.

Unless they're the right kind of android, they don't know how to kiss for shit.

Connor mashes his face against Hank's with the kind of single-minded determination that made him a great deviant-hunter, but a fucking miserable kisser. Hank grabs his shoulders and tries to man-handle him back, and Connor takes advantage of his distraction to wiggle the rest of the way into his lap. Lightning reflexes.

It's another long moment of dry-ass face mashing before Hank manages to escape.

"Jesus Christ, Connor!"

"I scanned you," Connor insists. The collar of Hank's t-shirt is still bunched up in his hand, and he strokes it with his thumb.

"Yeah, I mean, good job, you detected a horny old guy."

"I fail to see what the problem is. We have a mutual interest."

"Most people talk about it first." Hank looks at him thoughtfully. Connor is gazing back, his LED spinning yellow, with that fixed look in his eyes. The one that's been driving Hank crazy for the last six months. Oh. "Well, talking's overrated, mostly--"

"We did talk. I informed you that you were aroused."

"That's not talking. That's informing." He taps his finger on Connor's cheek, which feels remarkably like a human cheek, albeit a little cooler. Still, the weirdos at CyberLife got the basics down. "Calm down a little, all right? What, you thought this was your one chance to jump my ass, so you had to surprise me?"

Connor makes that face again. "I've done this all wrong. Let me download a plugin, and then we can start over again."

"Don't you fuckin' dare. Listen. You're not wrong, you figured me out. But there's an age difference here--"

"Immaterial. I am functionally an adult."

"All right, all right. And I have six other excuses that you're gonna shoot down, huh?"

Connor takes one of Hank's big hands and brings it to his mouth, kissing Hank's knuckles. This is much less awful than the other kiss, and Hank sighs. He always ends up going along with Connor's crazy ideas, and he realizes he's going to go along with this one -- because he trusts him, goddammit, because he's kind of been waiting for this to happen for weeks now (okay, waiting, fantasizing, same difference), because Connor decides what he wants and then he barrels ahead. "Lieutenant--"

"Hank. If you're gonna kiss me, you have to call me Hank."

"Hank. I have been processing this new desire for several months and although it's outside the parameters of my original programming it is an experience I would like to have. I've been researching human families and this is a common relationship between adult members. It is not unexpected that we should--"

Hank interrupts him for the millionth time, because he's just that eager not to get laid, apparently. "You think we're a family?"

"...Yes."

Fuck.

He brushes his fingers through the stray not-curl in Connor's hair, the one that refuses to stay back. "Okay. Then let me show you something about kissin', all right?"

Connor nods and watches him, expectant, bright-eyed. Fuck, fuck.

Hank puts his thumb at Connor's mouth and pushes his lips apart slowly, then leans in. It's a little strange not feeling breath on his skin when he does this, but it's not the weirdest thing about this whole relationship, so fuck it. "You gotta open your mouth," he says quietly.

Connor is in a different mode now. He's listening to Hank (actually listening to him!), copying him, and when Hank kisses him he pays attention, tries to kiss back the same way. He also lubricates his mouth, which is incredibly fucking gross if Hank thinks about it for more than two seconds, so he doesn't -- he just focuses on curling his tongue around Connor's, trying not to clack his teeth against Connor's plastic ones, biting gently at Connor's bottom lip. He absolutely knows that Connor still has his eyes open, but he keeps his firmly closed. There's no need to ruin the moment.

A flush of heat hits him deep in his stomach and in his dick, and he shifts under Connor, sighs. This is actually pretty good. Connor's getting the hang of it fast (he'd better not actually be downloading a plugin, because Hank is excited by the idea that he's teaching Connor something). Before Hank realizes what he's doing he slides both his hands up Connor's back, under his shirt, and Connor hums into his mouth.

"That good?" he asks huskily.

"It's interesting," Connor says, which isn't exactly what Hank wants to hear, but okay.

"Should I do something different?"

"Not yet."

iii.

Unless they're the right kind of android, they don't have junk.

Last night, they kept kissing for another twenty minutes, and then Connor sank back onto the couch, his LED spinning, spinning, spinning.

"Changed your mind?" Hank asked, ignoring the little part of himself that was worried about the answer to that question, as opposed to just being a smartass about it.

"I am incorporating new data," Connor retorted primly. His cheeks were flushed blue. "About things."

Tonight, which happens to be not nearly long enough in between Connor experiences, Connor arrived three seconds after Hank got home from work (Hank had originally planned to give him a key, but this turned out to be pointless, since Connor just hacks his home security system and makes it open the door for him). He announced that he was going to walk Sumo, which Sumo loves, because Connor isn't a fat old guy and he has a lot more stamina and patience for long, meandering walks that involve smelling every inch of sidewalk and then peeing on it.

Hank took advantage of the peace and quiet to microwave some Hot Pockets and worry about what was going to happen when Connor got back.

Which, as it turned out, was that Connor strode triumphantly through the doorway and said, "I've been researching, and I think we should have sex," as if he'd discovered the cure to cancer. Hank's response was to choke on a pepperoni.

It kept them busy for a while -- Connor is way too enthusiastic about giving the Heimlich, and Sumo lost his shit because they were both making a lot of noise and movement -- but finally Hank flopped down on the abused couch, wheezing, and Connor alit beside him.

"Why," Hank eventually asked, because he really liked doing this to himself apparently, "sex?"

"That's what humans do after kissing."

"Just for the record, not always."

"You would like to have sex."

"Wouldn't we all."

"You're being very reticent about your feelings, Lieu--"

"Don't you fuckin' dare," Hank said. "Don't call me Lieutenant, don't talk to me about feelings. If you want to get fucked, we can do that."

Connor beamed. "Thank you, Hank."

And that brings them to the present, where Connor is stripping off his slacks with machine-like (ha, ha) efficiency. Hank feels his face heating up. It's not exactly a strip-tease, but Connor is so excited, and it hits Hank -- he really wants this. Connor really wants to have sex. He has really decided that Hank is the person he wants to have sex with.

The absurdity of it makes Hank want to laugh.

The feeling is mutual, although Hank has been striving not to examine that. Connor is young and smart and energetic, frankly gorgeous, willful and eager and Hank feels like a dirty old man every time he imagines sucking Connor's dick, which he does on a regular basis. It would be a cute dick. Freckles, probably.

In retrospect, Hank muses, he probably should have expected not-a-dick.

Connor shucks his pants, and puts his hands on his hips with something almost like pride, displaying his smooth, featureless, Ken-doll crotch to Hank.

"When you were researching fuckin'," Hank says, "what exactly was your plan for this?"

Connor's face falls, and Hank mentally kicks himself. "I--"

"It's okay, it's okay. Come here."

He comes back to the couch, and Hank runs his thick fingers between Connor's soft thighs. He feels human, which makes it all the more brain-bending that there's nothing human there.

"I'm not the right kind of model," Connor says. He sounds apologetic. "My prototype has no reason to include sexual functionality."

"Hey, it's okay." He strokes the flat space. "Do you feel anything?"

"Pressure."

"Do you know if there's anything that would feel, uh, good?"

Connor's fingers sink in Hank's grey hair, carding through it thoughtfully. Hank can imagine the LED spinning yellow. "I could just provide oral pleasure to you."

"Nope, definitely not. That would make you a glorified fleshlight. Nope."

"It would not," indignantly. "I have sentience. A fleshlight does not." A beat. "What is a fleshlight?"

"You'll have to research it." Hank closes his eyes. It feels nice, getting petted. What's that weird thing they call that -- skin hunger? It's nice just to get the attention. Connor's stomach is soft under his cheek.

He strokes between Connor's thighs again, as if he can't quite wrap his head around the idea that Connor wouldn't feel _something_. Connor hums.

"My mouth and hands are very sensitive. It's important for receiving haptic stimuli. I think oral sex would be a perfectly reasonable compromise."

"You think?"

"Yes."

Hank takes one of Connor's hands, tugging it gently from his hair, and brings it to his lips. He sucks on Connor's forefinger, sliding his tongue along the printless pad, and feels Connor make a pleased sound. All right. He might be able to live with this.

"Hank."

He doesn't respond, because his mouth is full of Connor.

Connor waits a beat and then repeats, more insistently, "Hank."

"Yeah?" he mumbles, drawing back to look up at Connor's stupid pretty face. The LED is blue.

"I don't resemble a fleshlight at _all_."

"You know this is killing the mood, right?"

Yellow now. "The mood?"

"Research that too."

Connor purses his lips. He looks great when he's annoyed. He looks great all the time. "I'm downloading some programs now. We can resume shortly."

iv.

There are some programs they should not be allowed to download.

Connor's LED turns blue again as whatever information transfer he was working on completes, and he beams. Hank's dick jumps in his boxers.

This is all too much. It's too much that they're here in his living room but instead of watching Professor X and his space alien telepath girlfriend Hank is watching Connor, naked from the waist down, his face alight with the satisfaction of some new package of information that will somehow make this better.

It's already perfect, even if Connor is built like a doll. Connor's body has never been the point -- or, well, that's not entirely true, but Connor's body is only part of the point, it's Connor's God-awful personality that Hank thinks about when he's lying awake at night in the stale hot air of Detroit in global-warming summer, listening to Sumo grunt and fart in the darkness. Connor's weird sense of humor and his insistence on doing what he wants (they should have known he was going to turn deviant when he started their partnership by disobeying every fucking directive Hank gave him) and the way he kept saying, over and over, that he was a machine, while it got more and more obvious he wasn't. Jesus, Hank was probably done for the minute Connor walked into Jimmy's and bought him that drink.

"Hank, I want you to fuck me."

"We've been over this--"

"I want you to bend me over the couch and fill me with your hot come."

"Nope!" Hank drops back against the couch. "Jesus Christ, Connor. Delete that program."

Connor's voice alters subtly, since he's not reading off some demented prompt sheet. "The description said it was appropriate for intercourse."

"No. It's not." He rubs his face with his hands. "Sit down for a minute, okay?"

Connor sits beside him, that perfect ass vanishing into the overly-squashy cushions, a disappointed set to his shoulders. Hank puts a hand on his knee.

"You don't need to download anything. I'll teach you."

"I think I'd prefer that."

"Okay, good to hear. Listen, you picked up kissing right away, you'll pick up the rest of it. You know you're smart."

"State of the art," Connor says hopefully.

"Yeah. You don't need to have a sex program to figure it out."

"I didn't mean to disappoint you."

"You didn't." Hank slides his hand upward, caressing Connor's thigh. He doesn't know if Connor finds that reassuring, but Hank does. "Just caught me off-guard. What made you decide you wanted this, anyway?"

Connor's LED is yellow again. Seems like it's always yellow, but Hank tries not to think about that. "I like you. I trust you. We're partners."

"Yeah," Hank says, trying to be casual about it, but not too casual -- he doesn't want Connor to think he doesn't care, he just wants to come off like hearing it isn't making his stomach flip around like he was some kid getting asked to prom. "Plenty of people feel that way without wanting to fuck."

"But I want to. I'm new to wanting things, and I want to try them. Especially with someone with whom I have established a trusting relationship. You trust me, don't you?"

"Yeah," he croaks, because Connor is fucking wrecking him. Connor is so earnest, looking at him with those big brown eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I just wanted to make sure you were sure--"

"I'm sure."

"Okay. Couple of ground rules, then."

Connor nods.

"One. Delete that fucking dirty talk program. I've never gotten soft so fast in my whole damn life."

Connor blinks, there's a flash of yellow, then: "Done."

"Great. Two. You can suck my dick--"

He practically bounces up on the couch, beaming again. Hank tries not to have a heart attack. "Good!"

"But, listen, we have to find out if there's something that works for you, all right?"

"Yes, that's agreeable," Connor says, still looking extremely pleased with himself.

"Three, you gotta talk to me." He feels his cheeks heating up. "You can't just jump me. Use your words."

"Yes, Hank."

"Practice. Tell me what you want."

"I want to provide oral stimulation. And--" Connor hesitates, but his LED is still blue. "I want you to put my fingers in your mouth again."

"Great!" Hank says heartily. "That's communication! Good job." Positive feedback works on androids just about as well as it does on dogs, to judge by Connor's posture. Too bad Hank doesn't have a box of treats next to the couch for him.

Connor has apparently taken Hank’s approval as a go-ahead for right this second, which, to be fair, is kind of what Hank implied, probably. Before Hank completely realizes what’s going on, Connor’s fingers are in his mouth again, more of them this time, and Connor’s other hand is in his boxers, clasped around his dick.

He could try and demand more communication, or negotiate the situation a little more, but that all seems like asking too much, and besides that his brain is basically useless. Connor’s fingers are smooth and insistent, curled around his dick and his tongue, and Hank is tired of being the responsible adult. He just wants to get deep in this, this thing he’s been fantasizing guiltily about for months.

He sucks feverishly, and somehow Connor winds up in his lap, pressing kisses to his neck and jaw, and Hank wonders idly how he picked that up so fast. Connor hasn’t quite got the hang of how much suction to use with his mouth, and Hank knows he’s going to bruise like fuck, but, hey, that’s why God gave Man turtlenecks. _Fuck, but it’s June_ , he remembers. Oh, well. Fuck it. Not the time anyway--

“Hank,” Connor murmurs against his ear.

“Muh?” Hank says intelligently.

“I’m going to suck your penis. I just wanted to tell you because you asked me to communicate more.”

Hank gives him a shaky thumbs up, and Connor slips down between his knees, taking Hank’s boxers with him. He settles on the shitty carpet and pushes Hank’s thighs apart with a businesslike efficiency, then leans in, taking Hank’s heavy dick in one hand.

“Oh,” Hank mumbles. “Don’t suck as hard as you were before, okay?”

“Thank you for the feedback.”

“Sure,” he starts to say, but then Connor’s mouth is on him and his brain shorts out again.

This time Connor uses his weird mouth lubricant (although is ‘weird mouth lubricant’ all that different than ‘spit’, anyway?) right off the bat, and he sucks a little more gently, and it’s fucking fantastic, and it’s better than anything Hank has had in years (not that there’s been much). He sinks both his hands into Connor’s hair and tugs carefully.

Connor makes a little thoughtful noise. Right now he just has the head on his tongue, but then he glances up through his lashes and Hank watches his dick disappear into Connor’s perfect mouth. Fuck. He’s just going to fucking come, right now, after three goddamn seconds -- he looses one of his hands and wraps his thumb and forefinger around the base of his dick, squeezing.

Connor pulls off. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying not to blow my load. What are you doing? Get back on there.”

Connor fucking grins, the asshole. “You approve of my technique?”

“I’m gonna die, kid. You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

“Death _is_ a euphemism for orgasm in the French--”

“Connor, this ain’t the time for banter. If you don’t get my dick back in your mouth I’m gonna cry.”

“My Social Relations protocol indicates that that is an outcome to be avoided,” Connor informs him, as if he needs to check any protocols to know that, but he takes Hank’s dick in hand again and draws his tongue down the shaft, holding Hank’s gaze the whole time.

Fuck.

But this time he takes mercy on Hank. He starts licking and sucking more purposefully, and Hank doesn’t care if he downloaded this because it doesn’t matter, nothing matters. Connor deep-throats his whole goddamn dick, taking him so deep that his forehead rests against the curve of Hank’s belly, and Hank would be self-conscious of that if he could think about anything besides the feel of Connor’s throat around him.

v.

Unless they’re the right kind of android (sensing a theme here?), you’re not supposed to come in them. In Hank’s defense, Connor doesn’t mention this at the right time.

He comes sooner than he’d have liked, even though he knew it was going to happen. Connor just feels too good. Hank groans, deep in his whole body, and falls over the cliff -- seeing stars, the whole nine yards. He feels Connor pull off of his dick at some point, but he doesn’t think about it. He just sinks back into the couch and lets that feeling of boneless ecstasy wash around in his body.

When he opens his eyes, Connor is still kneeling in front of him, making the kind of mouth noises Sumo does when he eats something he doesn’t like off the sidewalk.

“You okay?”

Connor throws him back his thumbs up, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“What?”

“I wasn’t supposed to ingest that.”

“What?” Hank sits straight up. “What does that mean? Are you okay?”

“I will need to be professionally cleaned, I think.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“A fleshlight wouldn’t _know_ about professional cleaning,” Connor tells him helpfully. “Because it isn’t sentient.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Are you upset? I thought orgasm indicated satisfaction.” He frowns. “Your body scan indicates satisfaction.”

“I’m worried about _your_ goddamn body.”

“No, no,” waving Hank off. “I’ll be fine. It was just too large a sample for my oral cleansing system to handle, and too far back in my throat. My oral cavity is only meant for small tongue samples. Otherwise it gets into the channel intended for thirium replacement and contaminates the system. I shouldn’t go into system failure without much more contamination.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Yes, there was a 91.7 percent chance you would be disgusted by that information, so my original plan was to avoid telling you.” He sounds pretty goddamn cheerful about it, though, so Hank is pretty sure he’s just teasing, for Connor parameters of teasing.

Hank eases back into the couch. He’s had it so long that there’s more or less an outline of his body crushed into the cushions, and it receives him comfortably. He still has a little afterglow left in his system, so that’s good. Connor’s not dying, so that’s even better.

Connor settles back down beside him, bare legs tucked under his dickless body. Sumo hasn’t fucking moved this entire time, not since he got dislodged onto the floor. X-Men has finished the episode they were on and then gone straight on to the next one.

“You happy now?” Hank asks, after a few minutes of companionable silence.

“Very.”

He stifles a yawn. “You gonna look up how I can get you off for next time?”

“Cursory research indicates you could open my chest panel and interfere with some of the wiring.”

“Oh, great idea. I’ll get electrocuted and as I go down I’ll pull everything out and take you with me. Sounds good.”

“There are also genital attachments I could purchase in order to give me a more standard configuration for receiving your penis.”

“What, like-- an asshole?” Hank asks.

“The simulation of an anal or vaginal cavity, yes.”

“Would you feel good, though?”

“It wouldn’t feel bad.” Connor strokes his arm lightly, and Hank again finds himself pleased to be touched. “I’m not sure it would feel like anything besides pressure.”

“Nah, forget that, then. We’ll keep working on it.”

Connor doesn’t disagree, and Hank feels even better. So there’ll be a next time. And maybe he’ll try and figure the wiring thing out, maybe it’s worth it for Connor. Could work. Maybe.

“I’ll do more research.”

Hank pats his knee clumsily. That post-coital sleepiness, the thing that pissed his wife off so much back in the day, is threatening to overtake him. “Sounds good.”

“You should go to bed, Lieutenant.”

“Hank.”

“You should go to bed, Hank,” he repeats with the exact same inflection. More Connor humor.

“I can sleep on the couch.”

“The last three times you fell asleep on this couch and I remained with you, you deposited saliva on my shoulder.”

“You put random shit at crime scenes in your mouth. My spit won’t kill you.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “I will lie in bed with you if you go.”

“Aww, Connor. Are you saying you want to sleep with me?”

“Yes,” sounding almost exasperated. “I want to stay with you tonight. Go to bed.”

Hank’s mouth splits into a grin, in spite of himself, and he pulls himself to his feet in spite of the protests from his body. Fuck, he’s tired.

What a good goddamn day it turned out to be.

iv.

Humans are exasperating. They produce too many fluids and have to look everything up on their phones instead of downloading information instantly into their minds. Their lack of a HUD means everything they do takes longer and is less precise. They use too many idioms that he doesn’t have on file. They are so fragile, and so hard to repair.

Connor doesn’t want to be human. He doesn’t think he is human, that deviating made him become human.

But, he thinks, as he lies next to Hank Anderson in the lumpy bed, the ceiling fan rattling above them, humans hold an understanding and experience of pleasure in their bodies that he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to gain access to, wireplay aside.

It doesn’t matter, of course. He did want to try sex with Hank, he still does. He liked copying Hank’s kisses and the way Hank’s tongue felt on the sensitive information-gathering pads of his fingers. He liked being able to watch Hank’s face when he had his penis in his mouth -- the way Hank’s pupils blew wide and his mouth went slack and soft with orgasm. He liked the surge of information from his HUD, all those vital signs popping up in notification after notification, the chemical breakdown of all the different parts of Hank -- skin, semen, urea -- the way he suddenly knew so much (even the flurry of warnings about the unexpected fluids contaminating his thirium).

He wants to do it again. He likes wanting.

Wanting is what used to make androids different from humans. Humans wanted; androids did not. Androids obeyed; they followed their programming. Connor is a deviant because now he knows how to want, too, and he does, all the time.

He reaches out and brushes a little of Hank’s long hair out of his face, and Hank mumbles something. Connor smiles. Humans know a unique kind of pleasure. But Connor wants to try and know it too, and Hank will help him.

He closes his eyes, mostly because he knows Hank won’t like it if he wakes up in the middle of the night and sees Connor staring blindly at him, and initiates his stasis.

It’s been a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Supergreatfriend for his LP of DBH. Thank you to Caspar who didn't tell me not to write this fic. Thank you to Abby who beta-read. I have nothing funny to say here.


End file.
